[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

Although rule #71 might seem to apply to party activities or vacation plans, those are only analogies for what Robert Masello is really talking about: prose. In his accompanying essay, Masello warns writers of the dangers of allowing your writing to take on a repetitive rhythm, and suggests varying both sentence structure and events to keep the prose fresh and exciting. (Or at least that's how I interpret it.)

Sentence structure and rhythm are actually two of those important issues that often get short shrift in books on writing, so it's not a bad idea to discuss them a little more. When I first started out, the idea of varying sentence structure confused me. Although I felt that my underlying story ideas might be exciting, I worried that my sentences were lackluster and pedestrian. I thought my writing style was too simplistic, and I strained to add luster and sparkle to my prose.

I mainly approached this problem by two methods. I tried to improve my vocabulary and I eschewed any form of the verb "to be" that I could. But I soon realized that I could go further if I analyzed my writing "sentence by bloody sentence" (as a friend of mine from the Clarion Workshop once put it). The easiest way to do that was to read my sentences aloud and experience how they felt against the ear, as opposed to the eye.

Let me tell you, it makes a big difference.

In his book on writing, Worlds of Wonder, David Gerrold mentions the concept of "metric prose," which he learned from Theodore Sturgeon. Part of what made Sturgeon a masterful writer was his ability to play with sentence structure, in a way that lured the reader to plow forward through a story. He advised Gerrold to apply the metrics of poetry to his writing, and Gerrold found that to be useful advice. It's actually one of the simplest ways to vary your sentence structure and to mix things up.

For example, if you want the reader to march forward, recast your sentences in iambs (which, for those of you who don't recall, is a two-syllable foot of one unstressed beat followed by a stressed beat). If you want the reader to stop short, consider a one-sentence paragraph for effect. If you want the reader to get lost in a sea of stream of consciousness, work against any sort of consistent rhythm or pattern, and make the paragraphs as long as possible.

It is said that variety is the spice of life. It's also the spice of prose.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

Procrastination.

With rule #70, Masello tackles that issue, one that seems to affect all writers at some point or another. Often it feels a lot easier to put off doing our writing than it does to sit down actually do it. As others have noted in their own essays on procrastination, many writers would sometimes rather clean the bathroom than face the keyboard.

Masello's own advice on how to avoid procrastination hearkens back to his school days. He noticed that he always felt uneasy when he put off doing an assignment, and discovered that the only way to relieve this tension was to actually do his work. If he didn't do his work, but spent his time in leisure instead, he noticed that he couldn't really enjoy himself. For him, procrastinating simply wasn't that good an option.

So his main suggestion to fight procrastination is mostly just to do it, because of how it can affect you emotionally. To some extent, I can understand where he's coming from; I too get antsy if I put off work for too long. But on the other hand, the advice he offers isn't very proactive. If you're not the sort of person who gets antsy, you're not going to be able to follow it.

And sometimes, you won't be able to follow it even if you are. On a personal note, this past year I've had a handful of writing projects with deadlines, and I have to admit that I have heard the siren song of procrastination myself. Although I do set goals for myself, like many others, I don't always meet them the way I should. So how do I tackle the issue?

In one of his many essays on writing, "Do It Anyway," Mystery Grand Master Lawrence Block gives advice that is pretty much encapsulated in the title of the essay. He tends to feel that procrastination is rooted in fear that the work you create won't be good enough. The key to facing this fear, he says, is just to do the writing anyway. Chances are it won't be as bad as you think.

(It's possible that I'm conflating two different essays here. If so, there's no need to correct me, as the point is still a valid one.)

But how do we turn Masello's and Block's advice into practical action? I have three techniques I've used to fight procrastination, which might help you as well.

1. Set yourself a daily page or word quota.

It's probably the oldest piece of advice in the book; I know I've heard it repeated too often to count. But it really works. If you say to yourself, today I have to write 500 words (or 1000 words, or 250 words) before going to bed, and you really stick with it, you'll find that the work gets done faster than you expect. As Gay and Joe Haldeman like to say, a page a day is a book a year. Surely those of us who call ourselves writers can eke out the time to write a page a day. Or at least a sentence.

2. Promise yourself a carrot when you're done.

I've also seen this piece of advice elsewhere. In the past, writers used to promise themselves a chocolate or a few pages of reading someone else's novel once they finished their daily quota. Some writers give themselves the license to watch television after they're done. In our modern world, I've known writers who refuse to check their email or anything else on the Internet until they've finished their word count for the day. Find a reward that works for you.

3. Have someone else provide the stick.

This is a technique that I haven't seen recommended elsewhere, so if you offer it to others, be sure to give me credit (he said with a smile). When I took a year off to write full-time, I knew I would need someone else watching over me to make sure I actually got my work done. Since the only reason I had this opportunity was because Nomi was willing to support us for the year, she in essence became my boss. I had a daily page quota, and every day I had to email those pages to her so she would know that I had gotten them done. By our arrangement, I couldn't slack off, because if I did, I'd be falling down on the job. And treating writing as a job, where your boss can fire you if you don't get your work done, can be one of the best spurs for actually getting your work done.

Any other techniques for avoiding procrastination that others would like to offer? My guess is that we'd all benefit from such advice.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: personal, roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

With rule #69, Masello advises us that writers are never completely satisfied with our work. Even after we've been over a draft a dozen times, when the work finally appears in print we're still liable to read it with far too critical an eye, scouring it for flaws that may seem inconsequential to others.

But Masello says that this isn't such a bad thing. As writers, we're supposed to want to get every word perfect. I can definitely understand where he's coming from. If we're really totally satisfied with our work, we'll never look for ways to improve. It's true that many of us have debates between our inner writer and inner editor, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. As long as we don't let ourselves get paralyzed by over-analysis, it's okay to grumble and fuss over our writing.

It's one thing when it's ourselves doing it, but quite another thing when it's others. I was just at Readercon, and one of the many conversations I had with other writers dealt with the difference between critique and criticism. Those of us in the discussion had pretty much the same opinion. Before the story has been sent out, when we're submitting it to a workshop or an ideal reader, we're looking for critique that will help us improve the story. But once the story is published and out in the world, in a final, somewhat irrevocable form, we really don't want to hear any criticism. There's nothing more we can do with that story now, and all the criticism will do is make us feel bad.

I recall once hearing a story about Stan Lee. It may be apocryphal, but it's still a good story. Supposedly, a fan getting an autograph from Lee referred to one of Lee's comics as one of the worst pieces of trash ever written. Lee smiled throughout the criticism. When that fan left, the next fan on line asked Lee how he deals with that sort of thing. Lee's response: "I'm my own biggest fan. You have to be."

I'll grumble and fuss over my own work, thank you very much.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: comics, conventions, personal, roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

With rule #68, Masello warns us against writing in a fit of passion. He seems to be reacting to a piece of advice he's found in other books, which is to write when you feel most passionate about something. But he warns that such writing tends to come out less than coherent, and will most likely need a good dose of revision.

From my own experience, I have to say that I tend to disagree with this rule. Perhaps I'm confusing passion with obsession, but in general I've found that the stories I'm most passionate about are the ones that flow the easiest, and the ones that garner most of the attention.

If I may, allow me to discuss how I tend to come to write one of my own stories. (Yes, I know this is a digression. I'm using Robert's Rules as a springboard in this case.) What usually happens is that I start with an idea. Or, rather, I should say that an idea comes to me. Furthermore, the idea comes to stay for a long time. It takes up residence in my mind, and refuses to even consider leaving until I've started to jot down a few notes on how to turn it into a story. In fact, in order to exorcise the idea completely, I generally have to write the story, submit it somewhere, and see it published. (Examples of such stories include "Time Ablaze" and "Paying It Forward.")

So when I'm obsessed by a story, I tend to write it next. And, interestingly enough, those stories usually require the least revision. It's the stories whose words flow like molasses in winter that require the most rewriting.

So does this mean I would dismiss rule #68 entirely? Well, not quite. Because I can understand how in the throes of passionate writing, writers might rush through so many thoughts that they lose the narrative thread that holds the words together. To me, Masello's rule #68 is just another way of saying that it's always a good idea to take a second look at your work before you offer it up for publication.


Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

With rule #67, Masello suggests finding an intelligent, diplomatic friend to serve as an "ideal reader." In contrast with his previous rule, in which he advised writers to "doubt everyone" when it came to taking advice, with this rule he suggests that taking advice from someone can be beneficial -- as long as it's the right someone. But how do you find an ideal reader?

My first experience with the concept of an ideal reader took place in college. A friend I shall call F. got me reading science fiction short stories again by presenting me with a subscription to Asimov's for my birthday. F. herself was a reader of science fiction, and so for many years after that, every time I sat down to write, I kept imagining what F. would say about my work. I actually once told her that I was writing for her, an audience of one; she seemed amused by the revelation.

But in fact, F. wasn't actually serving as an ideal reader because she never looked at my prose in its raw form. And while Masello recommends this method, too (of imagining what a friend might say), it's far better if you can actually find an ideal reader to read and evaluate your work.

In my case, the ideal reader is my wife. I know I'm very lucky in that regard. Many writers have spouses who don't understand their desire to write. Nomi is an editor and writer herself, and has a very good eye and ear when it comes to prose. My general rule is not to submit any stories or essays anywhere without first running them by Nomi. As a result, she has become sensitized to the kind of errors I tend to make in sentence structure, which makes her even more of an ideal reader for me. (See, Nomi? I used "which" correctly this time.)

She's also very good at diagnosing plot problems and suggesting fixes. A few years ago, I finished a story that made me proud, and I ran it by Nomi before submitting it. Nomi liked the story a lot, but felt that the ending was a cop-out. I argued with her that I needed to keep the ending vague, but she would have none of that. So I rewrote the ending and sent it to Stan Schmidt at Analog.

When Stan called me to tell me he was buying the story, I said thanks and mumbled something about the flaw.

"Oh?" he said, his voice climbing in pitch. "What flaw?"

"Oh, there's no flaw there now," I said quickly. I described my original ending, and explained how Nomi hadn't approved of it.

"Oh," Stan said when I finished. He paused for a moment, then continued.

"Nomi's right. That original ending wouldn't have worked. From now on, don't send me anything until she's seen it first."

And so there you have it. An ideal reader can save you from story rejection and possible embarrassment. But, as I asked before, how do you find an ideal reader in the first place?

Well, if you're not lucky enough to marry one, I'd suggest (as Masello does) finding a fellow writer whose work you like and whose critique you trust. If the two of you can serve as each other's ideal reader, even better. A mutually symbiotic relationship can help improve both of your stories. And who knows? You might even end up taking that extra step and collaborating on a story.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: personal, roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

Tap, tap....is this thing on? I know the microphone has gotten a bit rusty since I last posted on of these (December 19, 2006, for those of you keeping track at home), but I didn't realize just how encrusted it had gotten. Let me just clean it off...

Ahem.

When I first started this project back in 2005, I tried to post my "Robert's Rules" commentaries about three times a week. Sometimes it ended up being only twice a week, but I still managed to post with some regularity.

Obviously, there have been some recent upheavals in my life, and blogging about "Robert's Rules of Writing" had to fall to the wayside. But I think I'm back now, and my more modest goal is to post a commentary at least once a week. If I manage to do more, that would be great too, but if not, once a week is a manageable goal. And it'll give me something to talk about all the way into 2008.

For those of you who are coming to these discussions anew, note that you can always find all the Robert's Rules commentary posts by using the address http://mabfan.livejournal.com/tag/roberts-rules.

And now, to the actual commentary.

With rule #66, "Doubt Everyone," Masello discusses the pitfalls of listening to the advice of others when it comes to your writing. He points out that although writing workshops are helpful, the advice offered can sometimes dilute a writer's own voice. And he cites the personal experience of listening to agents and editors tell him not to bother with writing certain books, only to find other books on those topics showing up in bookstores a year later.

Having just been a guest lecturer at the Odyssey workshop on Sunday, I've actually been ruminating on this rule a lot. As I listened to the students critiquing stories, I flashed back to my own workshop experiences. I remember how James Patrick Kelly analyzed one of my stories and gave me two pages of notes on how to fix the story...but I couldn't help but notice that his suggestions would have made the story much more a Kelly story than a Burstein story.

On the other hand, I had written a story about our universe getting in touch with a parallel one, and when Howard Waldrop read it, he gave me one piece of advice: set the story in the other universe. I adapted his advice by setting the story in both universes, and it led to a Hugo nomination, so I'm glad that I didn't doubt Howard's advice in that case.

But there are many examples of where Masello's rule is well applied.

For example, it's no secret that Daniel Keyes was told by many editors that if he would just change the ending of "Flowers for Algernon," they would be happy to publish it. I don't want to mention any spoilers here, but anyone who has read the short story or the novel knows how vital the final scene of the tale is. The story's ending resonates so well with what has come before that I can't imagine it ending any other way.

In my own personal experience, I've sometimes found that it's necessary to doubt even one's writing collaborators. A few years back, I collaborated on a story with my friend Charles Ardai called "Nor Through Inaction", that appeared in the October 1998 Analog. Although he writes the occasional science fiction or fantasy story, Charles's forte is mysteries, and in one of the revisions of the story he introduced a plot element involving a computer reading old hard-boiled mystery novels aloud to our trapped protagonist.

But on the other hand...at Odyssey on Sunday, almost everyone gave the same piece of advice to one writer regarding her story. And when it came time for me to add my thoughts, I shared a line from the Talmud, which I paraphrase here: When one person tells you that you're a donkey, pay him no heed. But if two people tell you that you're a donkey, buy yourself a saddle.

So how do you know when to doubt everyone? And how do you know when to accept the advice of others?

In the end, my advice would be to follow these two steps:

1. Solicit the opinions of people you trust.
2. Never take any advice that destroys the heart of your story.

Because in the end, it's your story, and no one else's.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: personal, roberts-rules, science-fiction, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

With rule #65, Robert Masello morphs from a mild-mannered freelance writer into am evil supervillain, bent on world domination...

No, not really. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.

Rule #65 has to do with rewriting. Basically, Masello's for it. And, in general, I am too.

Writers will give varying pieces of advice on rewriting. Some will tell you that books aren't written, but rewritten, and that you should do at least two drafts of anything you write before you submit it. Others will suggest that you get it right the first time.

I hate to sound like Polonius, but I honestly feel that it depends on what kind of writer you are. Some writers find that their first drafts are very close to their final drafts, if not final already. Others come to the realization that they need to go over their work one or two more times before it's ready. In any case, the most important thing is to figure out what kind of writer you are, and write accordingly.

The one statement I would stand behind, though, is this: With limited exceptions, never begin writing anything with the assumption that you'll just fix the whole thing when you rewrite it. That assumption can lead to sloppy writing and result in a weaker first draft than you might otherwise be capable of creating.

Being willing to rewrite can lead to uncovering gems of prose that you might not have realized you had within you. Rewriting can also lead to great improvement in your work, if you're willing to jettison some of your earlier prose that no longer fits.

To that end, let me quote this one sentence from Masello's essay: "Many times the very thing that sparked your imagination, that got you writing this particular piece in the first place, will turn out to be, by the time you're done, irrelevant or besides the point."

That nugget of truth reminded me of the process that went into writing my short story "Kaddish for the Last Survivor" (Analog, November 2000). The impetus or genesis for that story was a particular image, an ending scene that I adored. I wrote that ending scene first, it was so important to me, and then I wrote the rest of the story to lead up to it.

And then...and then...encouraged by the advice of a few early readers, I came to see that my original ending simply did not work as well for the story as something else would. So, most reluctantly, I removed that scene and wrote a new one, and the story ended differently.

Did it work? Well, the story ended up on a few awards ballots and is probably my most well-regarded tale at this point. Is the new ending better than the original ending? It certainly fits the story better, although to this day I'm sorry I lost that image.

Did I show no mercy? Most certainly.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: personal, roberts-rules, science-fiction, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

With this rule, Masello tackles the issue of longer books versus shorter ones. In a few brief pages, he gives some advice I've run across in many other books. The essential nugget is that a novel has one significant advantage over short stories. A novel can be long. A novel gives the writer room to explore, to go into detail, and to draw people into the story, in ways that shorter fiction can't.

Now, this is all well and good if your natural tendency is to write long. Then you can explore every nook and cranny of your characters and every facet of your background and plot. But what if your tendency is to write short? When I started trying to write fiction, I was naturally a short story writer. Since then, I've managed to become more comfortable with longer works, to the point where now when I sit down to write a story, it usually comes out as a novelette or novella.

I think part of that tendency to write shorter works came from my own personal preference. I just like short stories. There's something about the dip into a fictional world I find bracing, although Masello notes that he prefers a long soak much more. And, frankly, Masello's preference for novels does have one more advantage over my preference for short stories.

As Lawrence Block once noted in an essay, the readers of fiction bestsellers in this country -- meaning the majority of people buying novels -- seem to prefer longer books. A lot of readers seem to feel like Masello says he does, when he says that he enjoys spending long periods of time inside the fictional world that a writer has created. So if your goal is to hit the bestseller lists, then from a commercial perspective you need to consider the length of your work. And if, like me, that doesn't come naturally to you, what can you do?

I'll tell you what I did. I learned to outline.

I'm veering off somewhat from Masello's own discussion, but that's okay, as the point of these posts is to use his rules as a springboard. And even though I've probably discussed outlining before -- in fact, I'm about to reiterate what I said when I discussed Robert's Rule #49 -- it's still worth mentioning.

In order to learn what made a novel different from a short story, I sat down with a copy of The Terminal Experiment by Robert J. Sawyer and I created my own outline of it. Doing so taught me a lot about how to make a work of fiction more layered and longer, without just puffing it up with air. So to anyone else who also writes more naturally at the shorter lengths, I offer that suggestion. Perhaps we'll all end up on the bestseller lists one day.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: books, personal, roberts-rules, science-fiction, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

Masello's 63rd rule can really be stated quite simply, in one sentence:

Read your work aloud.

I first heard this piece of advice from James Patrick Kelly when I attended Clarion. I had submitted a story to the workshop, "'Til Death Do Us Part," and the less said about the plot of the story, the better. I recall vividly Jim's plethora of advice on how to fix the story. Many of his suggestions would have turned the story into a gonzo Jim Kelly story, and I despaired of getting it to work. But one piece of advice he gave me I was able to take to heart immediately.

"This story needs to be read aloud," he said.

Up until then, I tended to be more concerned with the look of the page than the sound of the words. After all, for the most part readers would experience my stories as words on the page, and not as words spoken aloud to them. And although I later learned that some writing workshops encouraged the participants to read their work aloud, all the workshops I had attended functioned differently. We had always read the stories by ourselves in advance, and not aloud in front of the group. Consequently, it had never even occurred to me that reading aloud was a possible tool, let alone a useful one.

(Aside: Often the best advice one learns is the stuff that seems obvious in retrospect. The first formal workshop class I took was with editor John Ordover, and at the time I had been sending out one of my stories to various editors and receiving personal feedback. But the letters were rejection notes, even if the editors gave me advice on how to improve the story. So I asked John, do I make the suggested changes even though the story is going to a different market? And he said, "Well, that depends. Do you agree with them?" The advice was worth the fifty bucks the workshop cost.)

So after Jim gave me his advice, I started to read my work aloud. And I discovered that I was enamored of writing techniques that sometimes made my meaning unclear. Reading aloud allowed me to avoid homonyms appearing too closely together (get it?). It also encouraged me to go through my work more slowly, at a reader's truer pace.

Finally, reading aloud also helped me get a better handle on dialogue. Dialogue, after all, is meant to be spoken language; what better way to make sure that it sounds real than to read it aloud? And scriptwriters should take special note of this, because if the prose sounds stilted or clumsy when read aloud, your actors will hate you.

I can't say that I've read aloud every story I've published. But I can say that the ones I read aloud before submitting tended to sell faster and earn more positive comments than the others.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: personal, roberts-rules, writing-advice

[Rule quoted from Robert's Rules of Writing: 101 Unconventional Lessons Every Writer Needs to Know by Robert Masello (Writer's Digest Books, 2005). See my original post for the rules of this discussion.]

One of the most difficult things for any human being to do is to get inside the mind of another human being. We all live our lives from one perspective, our own. We all experience the world from within our fragile shells, and with our own personal biases. Entire professions exist to try to delve inside other people's minds, a task which sometimes seems impossible for the average person.

But writers have to try to get into other people's minds. And not just into the minds of friendly, good, and wholesome people like yourself. To create complete, complex, and well-rounded characters, writers need to get inside the heads of some of the most vile people imaginable.

I am in complete agreement with Masello's rule #62, and in fact I've seen it mentioned in other forms by many other writers before. For example, Orson Scott Card, in his book Character and Viewpoint, discusses the way Michael Bishop managed to get into the mind of a character who was dying of AIDS. Another book I read, whose title I can't recall at the moment, advised writers to get into the minds of murderers by asking ourselves what might cause us to feel murderous rage. Just because we're not such people ourselves doesn't mean we can't figure out what makes them tick, at least well enough to write a story about them.

But although I agree with this rule, I also often find it the hardest one to follow. Many writers will say that all their characters are extensions of themselves, and I'm afraid that I am no exception. Often I will find my characters reacting the way I would, even if I'm trying to write someone who is worlds apart from myself. So I've used a few tricks to stop myself, tricks that many others have used. Those tricks include creating characters with belief systems totally anathema to my own, and having characters do the opposite of what I would do in any given situation.

I welcome other suggestions.

Copyright © Michael A. Burstein

Tags: roberts-rules, writing-advice